


Of Each, and All, and Everything

by JaneTurenne



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Foursome, Multi, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneTurenne/pseuds/JaneTurenne
Summary: It's all very well telling herself that the idea of inviting all three of her closest allies to have their simultaneous wicked ways with her is absurd, unworthy of her, out-of-nowhere and entirely untenable.  Unfortunately, Romana happens to know full well that none of those are true.  It's a perfectly good idea.  It's a perfectlybrilliantidea.  It's an idea that should have occurred to her years ago.  It is also the sort of idea, alas, which is likely to haunt her for decades if she allows it to fester.Post 4.2 AU.  Unabashed foursome smut.





	Of Each, and All, and Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gallifrey OT4 fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/321762) by marrowskies. 



> This fic started life as the 100 word drabble that still begins it, for the LJ community [Whoniverse 1000](https://whoniverse1000.livejournal.com/). Then [marrowskies](http://marrowskies.tumblr.com/) made [THE BEST ARTS](http://marrowskies.tumblr.com/post/5049179161/the-surprising-bit-is-how-much-she-wishes-they), and a full-scale fic was necessary to repay her for the glory. And that's how it was. If you ignore the _six years_ it took to actually get this done, ahahahahahaha oh god no really though. So this one's for you, Alice dear, after so long that you now could possibly not really care less, but with many thanks and praises all the same.

Romana isn't the sort of woman who forgets, even when half-awake. She knows from the moment her eyelids flutter that nothing untoward is going on. Yes, Brax's stubble is tickling the right side of her neck; yes, Leela's face is pressed against her left shoulder; yes, Narvin's hand has snaked over Leela's hip to rest on Romana's stomach; but that's what Romana expected, really. Stretching a one-person CIA-issue tent to fit four is bound to cause a little crowding. There's no surprise in _that_.

The surprising bit is how much she wishes they hadn't all got so many clothes on.

It's all very well telling herself that the idea of inviting all three of her closest allies to have their simultaneous wicked ways with her is absurd, unworthy of her, out-of-nowhere and entirely untenable. Unfortunately, Romana happens to know full well that none of those are true. It's a perfectly good idea. It's a perfectly _brilliant_ idea. It's an idea that should have occurred to her years ago. It is also the sort of idea, alas, which is likely to haunt her for decades if she allows it to fester.

Imagination is a luxury in which Time Lords are not meant to indulge. Romana's has always been among her worst faults. But this time, she has no intention of giving in. She will _not_ permit herself to squander all her free moments from henceforth in sordid daydreams. Daydreams, just for example, of the bodies of the only three humanoids in this universe whom she might on a good day call friends, all bearing her down at once onto some impossibly large bed, six hands ranged everywhere over her body, three voices calling her name again and again in tones that groan and plead and moan and promise, when their mouths aren't occupied in kissing and licking and nibbling over every available inch of her skin. No. No, she will not _allow_ herself to indulge in such useless fantasizing. Daydreams are a waste of her valuable time, and cowardly to boot. Either she's going to forget the whole thing, or else...or else she'll simply have to do something about it.

Romana narrowly prevents her mind veering off on another tangent, and focuses on the point at hand. She is going to consider this whole thing calmly and logically, she tells herself. Of course, the question to be pondered is, are either of those options feasible? 

Take the forgetting, just for example. She has only been awake for the space of a microspan or so, and it’s scarcely past dawn. Possibly if she just closes her eyes, she'll drift back off again, and when she wakes up, the tangle of bodies encircling her won't feel so damned _delicious_ , and this inconvenient notion will have completely slipped her mind.

Two microspans later, Romana opens her eyes again, stifling a gasp at the mental image that has just been swimming across her eyelids. Which certainly did _not_ involve Brax's fingers between Leela's thighs and Narvin's lips on the human's neck, one of her hands on each of their cocks, all three of them watching with matched expressions of absolute hunger as Romana slowly stripped off her robes.

Forgetting is apparently right out. Which leaves her with option B.

 _When I was living in E-Space_ , she imagines herself announcing to her assembled audience, _I met a woman who told me, by way of breaking my hearts, that there wasn't a single person in all the multiverse who could possibly give me everything I thought I wanted. The thing of it is, she was right. All these years later, I have finally found everything I want, but it isn't one single person. I've seen the way all three of you look at me, and I know you've all watched each _other_ watching me, and I think all four of us have been expecting that sooner or later I'll have to make some sort of choice. But you're all so _ different _. Narvin, you can take me at my worst, and Brax, you help me to be my best, and Leela, dear Leela, I can never tell_ what _direction you'll be pulling me in next, but that's exactly why I need you. I need_ all _of you. I'm inclined to think of you all as belonging to me, in some way or another, and I imagine that means I belong to the three of you. Any choice between you would be a loss, and you all know precisely how much I hate to lose._

_So. If you wouldn't mind terribly, I think I'd like to have quite a lot of sex with all three of you. All at once. Now, if that's convenient._

On the other hand, she could just kiss Braxiatel, and see how it goes from there.

A week ago, Romana might not have let herself trust Brax. She was desperately angry with him in the wake of the Matthias incident, and she's still certain there must have been a way out of the Pandora crisis and the resultant Gallifreyan power squabbles that _didn't_ involve Brax publicly humiliating her in front of the whole of their planet. But after the incident with the Lord Burner, after watching Braxiatel fall into infinite emptiness and fearing him dead or snatched from her forever... well. Forgiving is an action with a context, after all, and that context _did_ improve his odds. And so when, an hour later, Brax appeared back on the Axis with a dead Vortex manipulator on his arm, full of stories of the adventures he had undergone by way of returning to them, she hadn't felt anything but joy to see him. She had realized how much it meant, having him here, how lost she'd have felt without him. She had realized how much she loves the way he looks at her, like she means absolutely everything. And it isn't quite so hard to trust him, now.

Still, she can't entirely help a moment of hesitation. This first step does feel a bit like stepping out over a chasm. And then she nearly laughs at herself, because there is a very great difference between some momentous feat of bravery and turning her head just a few inches, and the latter is all she actually has to do.

There has always been something quintessentially masculine in the smell of Brax, musky and dark, but his lips taste of almonds, Romana is vaguely surprised to discover. He presses back against her mouth without opening his eyes, and she wonders whether her kiss has become a part of his dream. There is something terribly charming in that notion. When she has pulled away and he still hasn't stirred, she cranes her neck a few inches—she hasn't much room to move in, especially without disturbing Leela on her other side—and brings her lips close to his ear.

"Brax," she whispers, as soundlessly as she can manage.

He breathes out through his nose, strongly enough that she can feel it against her neck, and his eyelashes rustle. "Romana," he answers, long drawn-out syllables, just as softly as her own whisper. "Did you just..."

"Yes," she replies, and touches her lips to his again.

She can feel his eyebrows raising, in the way the tip of his nose nudges upwards against hers. She wonders whether he's closed his eyes, and peeks through her own lashes to find him watching her, looking more surprised than she's ever seen him.

"Brax," she whispers, breaking out of the kiss, "have you or have you not wanted me since I was one hundred and three?"

He shakes his head, his eyes still just a hint wide, but his mouth beginning to quirk at the corners.

"Oh," she says. "Well, then, I..."

"I've wanted you since you were eighty-six."

And suddenly he's grinning at her, not a hint abashed, and she can't help smiling back. "Why Irving Braxiatel," she says, "you reprehensible old roué."

He puts on a deeply wounded expression. "Oh, please, Romana," Brax whispers, "reprehensible and roué, granted, but I beg you, call me _anything_ but old." 

She laughs soundlessly, and leans into another kiss. The third time is, apparently, the charm. This time he's awake, aware, and so passionate it makes her hearts constrict in her chest. Their mouths move in an eager duet, never still for more than a nanospan before one of them is nudging into a better angle, or darting out a tongue in some momentary advance, or just pressing that much closer against the other. She's the only one of them with a free hand at the moment, and when she slides it onto his cheek, fingertips in his hair, he responds by kissing her that much deeper, with that much more need.

"Romana," he breathes, "as much as this is... do you think this is the ideal... is there anywhere else we can go?"

She pulls away. "I don't ever recall saying this to you before, Brax," she murmurs, "but you seem to be missing the point."

His eyes flicker momentarily—enough for her to know it isn't what he was expecting, though he's trying not to show it. "Ah," he says, carefully. "I had wondered whether the timing was entirely coincidental."

"It's...it isn't each of you, it's all of you. I mean...it _is_ each of you, but...but all of you together, even more." He's looking contemplative, and doesn't say anything, so she goes on. "I have no idea if this can work," she admits, because it's Brax, "and you needn't stay, of course not. But I'd like you to." She bites her lip, smiling a little, and if perhaps she does something that might be considered batting her eyelashes, she doesn't think she can be blamed for playing to her audience in such a worthy cause. "Aren't five hearts better than two?"

"I'd never forgive myself for turning down any chance with you, Romana, no matter how it comes," he says. He means it, too much, more than she's sure she can handle, and he, obviously seeing as much, softens the words with an apologetically self-deprecating purse of his lips. "And any adult humanoid would have to be mad to turn down Leela of the Sevateem," he adds, brushing his fingers lightly over Leela's arm. "She's magnificent, in every possible way. I'd be honored to know that she'd ever looked twice at me. But while we're talking of hearts, are you entirely certain Narvin's got any?"

"You didn't see him, during the war," she whispers, and, trying not to sound bitter, "You weren't there. He was...different. Better." She smiles. "He was always hanging around back when I didn't want him, but he was there when I needed him, too, more than I ever thought I would." She swallows. "He...he took care of me. Those hearts are there, I promise you." A mischievous glint steals into her eye. "And you've not seen him and Leela, recently. Don't you dare tell either of them I said so, but they're _adorable_ together."

"A word of advice, Romana," comes a sleepy murmur from Romana's other side. "Do not ever try to stop a blind woman from hearing what you are saying."

Romana rolls over, Brax's arm sliding around her, as Leela lifts her head. "Good morning, Leela," she says, smiling. "How much of that conversation were you awake for?"

"More than enough."

"And what did you think?"

"I think I have wanted you to kiss me for a very long time now, and if you do not do it soon I will be very displeased."

Romana doesn't need to be told twice. It's as eager and open and warm as Leela herself, not a moment of hesitation or guilt or regret. Leela kisses like it's the most natural thing in the world, as she does everything, and like everything Leela does, it makes Romana wonder how she ever got by without her. 

"Would you mind not throttling me until I'm awake, Savage?"

Romana and Leela break apart, grinning at each other. "Narvin," says Leela, matter-of-factly, as she turns around to face him, "I am going to kiss you now."

"I... _what_?" Narvin manages.

Romana watches, gasping with laughter and leaning back into Brax's arms, as Leela wraps her arms around Narvin's neck and kisses him with the same honest intensity she just bestowed on Romana. Narvin's eyes are enormous with shock, and he jerks his head away almost before Leela has begun.

"Are you out of your tiny mind?" he gasps.

Romana sighs. "I _knew_ you'd be the problem child, Narvin."

"Is he not always?" says Leela. "And now he is blushing, and I am missing it."

"Could we all stop talking about me like I'm not _right here_?" growls Narvin. "You've all had your little joke, _fine_ , now if we could all just..."

"They aren't joking, Narvin," says Brax. "I think you'll find that we are little more than helpless bystanders, compelled against our better inclinations to play along with their indecent and lecherous plans."

"Quite right, too," says Romana, and watches Narvin's eyes bug again when he sees Brax kiss her neck. "Let me handle him, won't you, Leela?"

Leela turns back towards Romana. "You may have him until I finish saying good-morning to Brax," she says, sliding over Romana, pushing Brax onto his back, and straddling his waist. "But I think it may be a very long good-morning."

"And a very good morning to you too, Leela," murmurs Brax, sliding his hands over Leela's thighs and matching her grin as he meets her kiss.

"I... _what_?" says Narvin again

"And this is how vulnerable my CIA has been all this time," says Romana, pressing close against Narvin. "In all the years you were Coordinator, Narvin, didn't anyone _ever_ try to seduce you for information?"

"Oddly enough, no," he says, dryly. "They all seemed to think shooting me would be more effective."

"Mmmm," she says. "Probably wise of them."

"Madam President..." Narvin begins.

"I used to call you into my office just to fight with you, Narvin," says Romana. She takes one of his hands in hers and tugs it over her hip, pressing his hand to the small of her back and leaving it there. "Did you know that?"

"Not for certain," he says, "but I always suspected you enjoyed tormenting me." He's distracted momentarily, clearly watching Brax and Leela over her shoulder. She puts a finger under his chin, and turns his face back towards her.

"I didn't say tormenting you, I said fighting with you," she says. "There's a difference. A very significant difference, as a matter of fact."

"Romana..." he tries.

"Do you want me, Narvin?"

He blinks. "I...my...my Lady, I..."

"I know you're not entirely asexual. I saw the Matrix files when you became Coordinator. You do permit yourself the _occasional_ liaison. As obvious as it is from this little encounter that you're no kind of Casanova, you're also not _completely_ unpracticed, nor do you lack the basic drives in question. I wouldn't ask if I didn't have a fairly shrewd idea that my several charms aren't lost on you, but I need to be sure." She gives him a tentative smile. "I'm not trying to make you nervous. On the contrary, I'm trying to make this as simple as possible, to make it as much your choice as it can possibly be. You can have me if you want me, Narvin." She slides one of her bare feet over his, tangling their ankles together, and presses her body just a little closer. "Do you?"

He stares at her, lips slightly parted, his red flush of a moment ago washed pale with nerves. She rolls her eyes at his inarticulate gaping, but softens it with a smile. "Put it another way," she says. "If you decide you're too afraid to take the chance, how long are you going to regret it?"

He hesitates for only a moment more. Kissing Narvin, it turns out, is so very unlike kissing Leela or Brax. Narvin has none of their assurance. After the first rush he's still, breathless, need urging him onwards even as fear holds him back, his hand in her hair insistent and yet uncertain. It feels as though he still can't quite believe she isn't going to pull away from him with a sneer and an insult at the ready—and yet, of the three of them, he's the only one who kisses her first, not waiting for her to begin. 

Paranoid and skittish he may be, but he's never been afraid of _her_. That in itself is endearing enough to remind her how she went from loathing everything she thought he stood for to leaning greedily into his kiss, hungry for more.

It's a long, lingering kiss, and when it ends they remain pressed together, eyes wide open, breathing hard. He leans in for another kiss, but as his lips brush hers, she begins a, "Now..." 

He freezes, and she exhales a quick laugh, and kisses him briefly, playfully, her tongue flitting between his lips. "Now," she begins again, "let's talk about Leela."

He leans back a few inches. "Leela?" he asks, somewhat dazedly.

"Leela," Romana agrees. "Look at her, Narvin."

Brax and Leela break apart long enough to grin at Narvin, cheek to cheek. Then Brax turns to kiss Leela's neck, and their attention shifts visibly elsewhere.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" asks Romana, with a warm rush of pride.

Narvin looks quickly at Romana, then to Leela, with a note of what Romana would call 'reluctant longing,' and then back to Romana again. "I...I wouldn't know," he says.

Romana laughs aloud. "Why? Because you haven't got eyes?"

"By the standards of her own... I'm not... Romana, she's a _human_."

"She's not _a_ human, and you should know better," says Romana, severely. "She's _our_ human."

Leela pauses immediately in undoing Brax's buttons and turns towards Romana. Romana rolls to face her. "You do not _own_..." Leela begins.

"And we're _your_ Time Lords, Leela," Romana interrupts, sitting up to wrap her arms around Leela's neck.

Leela nods, satisfied. "And do not forget it."

"Never," Romana says, smiling. With Leela still kneeling above Brax, Romana finds the angle between their mouths somewhat difficult, but in a cause as noble as kissing Leela a few minor obstacles are hardly worth considering. As they stretch and crane for better access to each other's lips, Romana moves her hands to the laces of Leela's basque and begins the deliciously slow process of undressing her dearest friend.

"If you think I'm going to be kissing _you_ , Braxiatel, you're sorely mistaken," says Narvin's voice, from somewhere behind Romana's back.

Brax's arm is pressed up against Romana's leg, and she can feel him shrug. "That is entirely your own decision, Narvin," says Brax. "The sixteen volumes of erotic poetry in the Collection library composed in my praise by life-forms from twenty centuries, thirty-six species and six separate genders would suggest that you'd be missing an opportunity. But I would hardly like you to feel pressured."

Romana and Leela don't so much stop kissing each other as suddenly find themselves laughing against each other's lips instead.

"Resorting to blatant lies, are we? Why Braxiatel, I had no idea you were so eager to get me out of my robes," says Narvin.

"Once there lived Brax, a Time Lord of leisure," declaims Braxiatel, theatrically, "Whose _powers_ were quite beyond measure,/And with consummate ease/He brought worlds to their knees/In the mad throes of exquisite pleasure."

Romana and Leela clutch each other tighter, nearly crying with laughter into each other's shoulders. "Need I go on?" asks Brax, smugly. 

"Merciful Rassilon, please don't," groans Narvin

"If you will not kiss him for that, Narvin, _I_ will," says Leela.

"And so will I," agrees Romana, still laughing.

Leela rolls to lie beside Brax, on the opposite side from Romana and Narvin, and kisses Brax's cheek, as Romana does the same to the other. Brax slips an arm around each of their waists. "My dear Leela," he says, "my _dear_ Romana, I...oh..." Romana and Leela are both running their hands over any convenient bit of Brax, twining their legs up with his and each other's, pressing kisses to his neck and ears and jaw. "Oh, I could _certainly_ get used to this."

"I think that you should," says Leela, nipping at the place where Brax's neck meets his shoulder, tugging at his shirt. "I have spent too many long months in sleeping alone."

"A crime against nature, decency and all things good," says Brax. He has his arms crossed over each other, the better to free his hands, and is attempting to undress both Romana and Leela at once. Only Irving Braxiatel, thinks Romana fondly, could actually make such an impossible feat look easy.

"Are you planning on sulking over there _all_ morning, Narvin?" asks Romana, leaning across Brax to slip her tongue between Leela's lips. Brax inclines his neck upwards, and suddenly all three of their mouths are pressing together, a strange triangle of lips and teeth and tongues that isn't very much like proper kissing, but has its own unique appeal. Romana suspects that description is likely to serve for much of the rest of her morning.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into these things," grumbles Narvin, just as Romana and Leela are pulling away.

“Leela,” says Romana, toying with a lock of Leela’s hair, “I suspect our Time Lords will have an easier time coming to whatever reconciliation they’re likely to while _our_ attention is elsewhere. Do you want a little time with Narvin first, now he’s awake enough to know what’s going on, or shall you and I occupy ourselves as best we may, and let the pair of them work things out for themselves?”

Leela slides her arms around Romana’s neck. “We have been very hard on our poor Narvin,” she says. “I think I would like a moment to show him that even warrior women like you and I can be gentle, when we choose.” 

Leela interrupts herself to kiss Romana’s lips, and the tip of her tongue just brushing across Romana’s lower lip, and the tight press of their torsos together, sets Romana’s insides suddenly ablaze. Until now the morning’s various activities have certainly left her feeling amorous, affectionate, even sensual, but that kiss represents Romana’s first moment of unabashed _lust_. She moans faintly, an expression of affectation that would embarrass her with its openness, except that she’s fairly certain every pair of hips in the tent shifts involuntarily at the sound.

“Come back soon,” Romana gasps against Leela’s lips, and if she pouts a little, she doesn’t suspect that any of them will mind. 

“Always, my own heart,” Leela promises.

As Leela pulls away, she slides her hand over Romana’s breast—still frustratingly clad, despite Brax’s interrupted disrobing attempts—and gives a gentle squeeze that leaves Romana even more wanting. Fortunately, though Leela’s attention has shifted, Romana has Brax to pick up the gauntlet. Romana straddles Brax’s waist, and he sits up to pull her into a kiss so passionate and unreserved that it entirely distracts her, for a moment. When it breaks he spares a long moment to look into her eye, then slowly slides his hands up over her waist, her stomach, slipping them under her shirt and rucking it up as he goes. She considers for a moment, then raises her arms over her head to permit him to remove it, shaking out her hair when she is free of the fabric.

“Oh, Romana,” Brax murmurs, so reverentially she blushes with it, and kisses her lips one more time before bending his mouth to her breast. Even Brax’s worst enemies couldn’t, Romana imagines, deny that he is good with his mouth, and that turns out to extend beyond the verbal. The visual is so _good_ from this angle, too, his dark head contrasting vividly against her light skin. She slides her hands into his hair, which is thick and silken and _wonderful_ , and he clutches her thighs. Her hips squirm against him, more from desire than design, though Brax’s obvious physiological response indicates no lack of appreciation. Lover of art though he may be, there is room in his lives, it seems, for artlessness.

She could easily lose herself in sensation, but she did not engineer this occasion _just_ for Brax. She turns her head to watch Leela and Narvin on the other side of the tent—if ‘other side’ can really be a relevant descriptor, when they’re still so near that they occasionally nudge against Romana’s leg. 

Romana has been somewhat preoccupied with Brax, this past microspan or three, but she registered enough of Leela and Narvin’s conversation to hear her encourage him to be as slow as he likes, take as much time as he needs to leave his nerves behind and find the thrill of the moment. Romana is surprised, then, to find that Leela’s skins are entirely missing. Even from this angle, Leela’s naked body is so utterly perfect that Romana shivers with wanting, and Brax hums against her breast in reply, which only amplifies the sensation. But Romana is detached enough still, just, to analyze what she is seeing.

Narvin and Leela are not kissing. But Narvin is touching her, and Leela, while she has kept her word to permit him his own pace, seems to have come to the extremely sage conclusion that _responding_ is not the same as pushing him. Leela’s body undulates like the ocean as Narvin’s palm slides over her, and Romana is gratified by the near-hypnotized way Narvin watches his own touch transform the world. 

Trust Leela, Romana thinks, to be the only one of them with any emotional intelligence. Narvin is a spy, their spy, even still. He cannot be comfortable if he does not know the ground he stands on. Given this time to learn, to analyze, to _think_ , Narvin has not grown detached, but had the chance to _lose_ his detachment. When his nose brushes Leela’s, Narvin’s expression is so astonishingly tender that Romana aches to think that Leela cannot see it. 

“Yes,” Narvin murmurs, tracing with the featherlight touch of his thumb along the line of Leela’s cheekbone and down along her jaw. “You are.”

“I am what?” Leela asks, though she is already smiling in response to his tone.

Narvin hesitates a moment, though without taking his eyes from Leela’s face. “Beautiful,” he admits, softly.

Leela’s smile spreads beamingly over her face, and then it migrates to Romana’s too, and Narvin’s, and then Narvin is leaning in for a kiss. However enjoyable Brax’s current activities, he deserves to see this, too, and so Romana nudges his head away from her breast to watch Narvin and Leela slide together. Romana realizes potently in that moment how in any other context, watching this would smash her hearts. She belongs to them both so entirely— _saying_ that would be impossible, but thinking it she can manage. Being outside of Narvin and Leela’s love looking in would be a misery. Being one more note in their chord, on the other hand, makes their harmony one of the sweetest sounds she has ever heard.

Romana lets them have this kiss to themselves; she is not so selfish, or _so_ impatient, as to deny them this. But when they part, she slips from Brax’s embrace and slides her arms around Leela from behind, squeezing warmly.

“Well done, Leela,” she murmurs. “May I borrow her now, Narvin?”

“I am yours to command, Madam President,” he says, and she can't imagine how it took her so long to hear that title for the endearment it is when he speaks it.

“In that case, I order you to trade a few insults with Braxiatel. I won’t ask if you’ve revised your opinions in re kissing, but would it be entirely unreasonable to suggest that the pair of you might enjoy the odd _bite_?”

Narvin’s lips purse, but his eyes cannot help but betray a certain degree of amusement. He turns that wry expression from Romana, who grins, to Brax, who replies with a challenging brow and a smirking lip, and then back to Romana again. “Exactly how roughly am I authorized to deal with your Chancellor, my Lady?”

“Narvin, I realize that I may have occasionally demonstrated a tendency to micromanage, but just at the moment I have Leela of the Sevateem, naked, right next to me.” Leela grins, rolls over to face Romana, and kisses a spot under Romana’s jaw. Romana’s head falls back, baring her throat, and Leela takes full advantage, Romana squirming against her in reply. “Do as you like, Coordinator—I’m busy,” Romana gasps, and throws herself into kissing Leela with utter abandon, mouths open and the slide of their tongues leaving Romana _aching_ with delight.

Leela really is _too_ distracting, for a little while, to leave Romana capable of thinking of anything else. Romana is a Gallifreyan, she’s good at repression, but while she considers herself pansexual, her personal perch on the Kinsey scale veers to the homosexual side of center as a rule. It’s a _long_ time since she stopped denying her physical attraction where Leela was concerned. Romana still isn’t entirely sure that the entire incident with the sense tanks on Davidia wasn’t the result of certain unsuppressable fantasies and the tanks’ understandable confusion over the desire to have Leela in her body.

Unshy as ever, Leela gives Romana’s sleeping bottoms a tug as they’re kissing, and Romana willingly lifts her hips to permit Leela to pull them off. While they’re distracted with that necessarily inelegant exercise, Brax takes advantage of the chance to clamber over them, as gracefully as he can manage under the circumstances, to Narvin’s side of the tent.

Romana’s body is entirely occupied with Leela—especially when Leela takes advantage of their now entirely naked skin to slide one of her legs between Romana’s. Romana whimpers and squirms unabashedly, reassured by Leela’s matching sounds of pleasure, and they kiss and kiss, rubbing up against each other, chests pressed together, hands in each other’s hair. If Romana cannot possibly spare the time to _look_ at Narvin and Brax just now, however, she cannot help but hear them.

“You needn’t pretend that you have never considered this before, Coordinator,” says Brax, voice rich with smug amusement. “I know that you _assumed_ we had a gentleman’s agreement about what happened in my office that evening, but you were too cynical even then to believe I would _never_ find a chance to hold it over you.”

“Nothing _did_ happen in your office that evening, you _unbelievable_ narcissist.”

“The fact that you know to which evening I am referring rather gives the lie to that argument, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nothing _happened_!”

“You _blushed_ , Narvin.”

“Only _you_ would think that the fact you managed to provoke a moment of _embarassment_ —after you had plied me with alcohol, I might add, _foreign_ and unexpectedly _strong_ alcohol—”

“Thus my restraint in not exploiting your moment of weakness. If you hadn’t been in a position to disclaim responsibility for it the next day, I would have seriously considered responding to the body language suggesting that you were absolutely _gagging_ for it, and bent you over my…”

“ _Shut up_.”

“That isn’t what you were saying _then_. Would you have liked me to keep talking while I did it? I am well aware of your opinions on my voice. And knowing the pair of us, no hatesex could ever be complete without insults and banter.”

“You are the most _insufferable_...” Narvin interrupts himself with a sharp hiss, the hint of something high-pitched in the sound. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“That _is_ something of the general…” It’s Brax’s turn to be cut off mid-sentence by his own breath between his teeth. “Ah,” says Brax, with a little shudder in the syllable. “Our Lady President was right as usual about the biting, then.”

Romana opens her eyes long enough to confirm that Braxiatel does indeed have his hand down Narvin’s pants, and that Brax’s shoulder bears the marks of Narvin’s teeth, and that the boys are currently staring each other down with a mixture of amusement, fury and lust, even as Narvin is currently struggling to shove Brax’s shirt off without interfering in Brax’s other activities. 

Leela draws Romana’s attention back with a squeeze to her backside. Romana willingly surrenders to another open-mouthed kiss, but then relinquishes Leela’s mouth with a little nip to her lower lip. “We’ll be getting back to that,” Romana promises, “but hold that thought. I don’t think Brax should get to have _all_ the fun.” 

Romana sits up, and draws Brax’s hand out of Narvin’s trousers long enough for her to finish removing Brax’s shirt. She takes Brax’s cheeks in her hands and kisses him long and hard, shuddering as he pulls her in close, but when the kiss breaks, she turns away.

“You know how repressed our Coordinator is, Braxiatel,” Romana says, though with her eyes on Narvin. “Any more of _that_ treatment and we’ll have refractory periods to worry about before Leela and I can have a turn.” 

Romana flushes suddenly with a rush of _control_ ; to these three people, and only these three, she is still the President. She intends to savor the sensation. “I want you to touch Leela, Brax,” Romana says, in a voice more like the self she used to be, cooler and a hint more distant, but entirely sultry in context. “More than touch, if you think you’ll be more efficient some other way.” Leela is sitting now, too, and Romana brushes Leela’s hair back and kisses her mouth, loving and a little possessive. “She is as dear to me as anything in this universe, so I want you to take _very_ good care of her. Do anything she asks you. Before I’m done with Narvin, I want you to make her come for me at least once.” Romana looks Brax in the eye, shivering under the intensity of his gaze. “And afterwards, I suspect you will find me very… generous. I know you too well to promise _anything_ you can think to ask for—but I trust that you will think of _something_ to fit the bill.”

She expects him to accept, and eagerly. Instead, he holds her eyes a moment too long, and then says, “And just supposing, my Lady President, that we should stage a coup?”

Romana’s eyebrows raise, startled halfway out of her adopted persona. “My own most loyal?” she asks. “Plotting against me?”

“For your own good, my Lady.” Brax slides his hand along her thigh. “Each of us is only here because of you.” He traces his nose along her neck, caresses over her skin. “Supposing that we should decide that our own desires are irrelevant.” His hand slides slowly, inexorably upwards, parting her legs. “That we owe our service to our President. That if we are here to serve you, we are here to serve _you_ , and that any moment that any one of our hands or mouths or bodies is devoted to some cause other than your personal satisfaction is an inefficiency which should not in conscience be permitted?”

Brax’s fingertips part her labia, slowly enough to give her time to stop him—and, when she does not, he presses two fingers inside her. When she arches in response, her back collides with Narvin’s chest, and then _he_ is kissing Romana’s nape even as Leela’s hand slides over Romana’s stomach and up to her breast. Romana’s eyes roll back in her head and slip shut.

“What if,” says Brax, in his glorious, rumbling, wine-velvet voice, “we decide that our _duty_ ,” he presses his fingers deep and firmly into her, once, then sets a slow, steady rhythm, “is to pleasure you for _hours_ , my Lady, until you doubt that you are physically capable of taking more, until you are wrung-dry and senseless—and then to take advantage of every nerve ending left unbearably oversensitized, and to begin all over again? What if we conclude that our purpose in life, as your servants, your ever-obedient, is to pool our resources until you are _screaming_ with pure bliss, and to ask no reward for it but knowing that we are yours to be used as it please you?”

Leela’s and Narvin’s mouths are both on her, now. Romana has lost count as to hands—whose are where, and how many. No woman in the universe has _ever_ felt like this before, Romana would swear it, so entirely surrounded and enveloped and cared for, so breathless and yet so _safe_. But however delicious this moment, that very feeling is the reason that she forces herself to open her eyes, and catch her breath enough to speak.

“That would all sound _very_ appealing,” she admits, stilling Brax with a hand on his wrist and somewhat reluctantly withdrawing his fingers to rest his hand on her thigh, “except for one minor thing.”

“And that is?” asks Narvin, very near to her ear, and his voice is so gentle that he knows, she imagines, what she is going to say, or something like it.

She manages. It is difficult, but she manages. “I happen to love you all,” she says, trying to sound as though it’s not _such_ an important thing, really, though without being _flippant_ either. “I don’t want to _use_ you. Someday, perhaps, we might all like to play that game together, if we were all very clear that it _was_ a game—but not this first time. This time it should be playful, and sweet, and considerate, for _all_ of us. This time I want to… to make love to you all.”

She hasn’t blushed half so much before, not from the nerves of propositioning three people at once, not as a result of their shared state of undress. Not for nothing was Romana once the figurehead for their emotionally incompetent species. But Leela, of course, is not a Time Lady, and so it is she who rescues them, pressing her lips softly and sweetly to Romana’s left cheek. “We love you, Romana,” she says, as easy as breathing.

There is a moment’s pause, and then Narvin wraps his arm around Romana. Even if it’s barely a murmur in her ear, he succeeds admirably where Romana feared he might struggle to lay himself bare. “We love you, my Lady.”

Brax smiles, a smile as full of secret significances as he is himself. He slides forward to rest his forehead against hers. “We love you, Romanadvoratrelundar.”

“Well,” says Romana, still blushing. She has enough hands to give one each to Narvin and Leela, but Brax will have to content himself with a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good.” 

Kissing has begun to happen. Romana deplores the passive voice of that statement, but she hasn’t the foggiest idea who began it, and as there never seem to be fewer than two pairs of lips on her at once, the activity has no boundaries, no beginnings or ends. “And now we never need to worry about saying that aloud ever again, thank heavens,” she says, tilting her chin up with a gentle sigh and permitting Brax to steal her breath.

“ _I_ will be saying it again,” Leela informs her, without, apparently, moving her lips from Romana’s ear.

“Well of course _you_ will,” Romana sighs, and turns her head to find Leela’s mouth. “I think you may generally take it as read, Leela, that when I say ‘we’ in a pleasant context, such as ‘we are all going to have an _extremely_ enjoyable morning,’ you are entirely included, but when it’s in a case like ‘we are all a bunch of bumbling idiots,’ only the Time Lords among us are meant. See the difference?”

“How _kind_ of you to explain things so clearly for your stupid Savage,” Leela says, smirking.

“Oh, don’t _you_ start being sarcastic with me, Leela. Don’t I get enough of that from these two?”

Reminded of the other occupants of the tent, Romana turns to find, in her moment of inattention, that Brax and Narvin have _finally_ concluded that kissing one another is a productive use of their time. Unwilling to risk startling them apart, Romana doesn’t think about it—she touches Leela’s arm, opens her mind, and feeds her visual data through the contact, letting Leela see too. Leela gasps loudly, and Brax and Narvin break apart to look.

“Oh!” says Leela, her eyes wide.

Romana closes off the contact immediately, the mental equivalent of drawing back from a rejected touch. “I’m sorry, Leela,” Romana says, mortified. “I should have asked first, but I didn’t want…”

“ _Do it again_ ,” gasps Leela. “That is the first thing I have _seen_ in such a…”

She whirls mid-sentence to grab Brax’s arm, a little more clumsily than usual, even since losing her sight. “Let me see Romana,” she begs. “Oh, _please_ , I want to look at Romana. Will you share your eyes with me, Braxiatel, please?”

Brax smiles gently. “I don’t recall _when_ I’ve been given an assignment so suited to my particular talents, my Lady Leela,” he teases, holding Leela’s hand, and there is something unbelievably erotic for Romana in knowing that, as Brax’s eyes trace their way slowly up her naked body from toes to crown, that Brax and Leela are _both_ looking at her at once.

“ _Oh_ ,” says Leela, again, and caresses Romana’s cheek, Romana closing her own eyes as she leans into the touch. “And now Narvin. Please, Brax?”

“A _less_ intuitive task, but just for you, Leela,” Brax says, and turns to Narvin.

“Hello, Leela,” says Narvin, with a little half-smirk that isn’t really a smirk at all.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” says Leela. “I _thought_ that was how you looked at me now, Narvin, but I could never be sure.” She launches herself away from Brax and slides her arms around Narvin’s neck, throwing herself into a kiss. His brows raise in laughing surprise for a moment, but then he reciprocates warmly, wrapping Leela up in his arms.

Romana snuggles herself into Brax’s embrace to watch Leela and Narvin, an activity which she suspects will very quickly become one of her favorite things to do. “You have too many clothes on, Narvin,” Leela announces, and has his shirt off and his trousers shoved down faster than ought to be physically possible, Narvin laughing and arguing and helping her along. 

When Leela has a free hand, Romana catches it, and shows Leela what Narvin looks like now, what the pair of them look like together. Leela turns back towards Romana, and laughs as she catches her own face full-on. “Oh, that is _strange_ ,” Leela admits.

“Stranger than anything else today?” asks Narvin.

“Perhaps not,” Leela grants.

“Will you share him, Leela?” Romana asks. “I really _did_ mean it about wanting to spend a little quality time with Narvin as we move into the next stage of these… festivities.” A certain recently-uncovered portion of Narvin’s anatomy twitches in response to that statement, and his cheeks redden. “To which I take it he does not object,” Romana says, smirking.

“No, Madam President,” says Narvin, a little hoarsely.

“No, you don’t want me to,” Romana says, sliding sinuously away from Brax, and using the space Leela has thoughtfully vacated to straddle Narvin’s stomach, pushing him down by the shoulders, “or no, you don’t object?”

“I think you’re an intelligent enough woman to draw your own conclusions in that regard, my Lady.”

“May I just point out, Romana,” Brax adds from beside her, though Romana has no idea how he can sound so steady when Leela is currently both kissing his neck and easing him out of his lower garments, “that _you_ were the one who began what we may call the ‘President game’? I really think that fact deserves to be a matter of public record.”

“Noted, Braxiatel,” says Romana, sourly. “How kind of you to let that momentary lapse in judgment pass unremarked.”

“Never mind him, Romana,” says Leela. “He is only trying to distract you from Narvin. Those two would not be themselves if they did not compete with one another. I will find a way to keep him occupied for you.”

“I am frankly _hurt_ , Leela, that you should imagine me so…”

Romana has _never_ seen the look that Brax is currently wearing—but she’s pleased to see it now, because it’s terribly endearing. She didn’t think he was _capable_ of looking shocked, never mind overwhelmed into the bargain. It just _may_ have something to do with the fact that Leela has slid down his body and taken his cock in her mouth, while her hand has strayed still lower and given a little squeeze for emphasis.

“Carry on then, Leela,” says Romana, frankly impressed. “Let me know when you feel like a change, won’t you?”

Leela hums with her mouth full. Brax makes a small and undignified noise. Romana laughs and turns her attention back to Narvin, who replies with a warm smile.

“Now, then,” he says, and slides a hand into Romana’s hair, “where were we?”

It _would_ be a ridiculous question, except that he kisses her like they _are_ picking back up from the last time—like this encounter could somehow be parsed into discrete segments instead of a macedoine jumble of moments, as though the two of them had paused their separate scene of this drama the moment they parted and could resume it now like nothing else had happened in the meantime. That _tidy_ approach to sex with three partners is so ridiculous, and so _like_ Narvin, that she finds herself laughing against his mouth.

“Narvin,” Romana murmurs, “kissing isn’t actually what I came over here for. A nice additional accoutrement, don’t get me wrong, but…”

He sits up, their bodies sliding so they’re kneeling face-to-face. It seems a lateral move at first, in terms of options for intensifying this encounter. His hands grow bolder this way, however, their bodies clasped close and their hips straining against one another, and her temperature most certainly increases.

Romana is aware, dimly, of Brax’s voice rumbling. “Leela,” he says, voice even deeper than usual, “will you permit me to express my gratitude by returning the favor?”

After a moment and a small wet noise, Leela says, “I thought that you would never ask.”

“You couldn’t have chosen to initiate this encounter when we had _slightly_ more space for it, Romana?” Narvin mumbles, prompted perhaps by the rearranging of bodies going on beside them.

She could tease him—only Narvin, honestly, only he could _possibly_ be complaining right now—but a better question occurs to her. “What would you prefer?” she asks. “Where would we be now, if you could choose anywhere?”

“Your desk,” he says, immediately. “You, sitting on the edge of your desk, and me standing between your legs.”

She rolls her hips against him, wanting more than just friction but enjoying his gasp. “When you’ve fantasized about this,” she says, sliding her hand between his legs to stroke him, savoring his shudder, “that’s what you thought of?”

“Yes,” he admits. His hands clutch her thighs, petting over the soft skin there. “At first.”

Romana has no intention of dropping this conversation, but Leela has begun to moan. If there was ever a sound likely to banish Romana’s remaining patience, slight as it already was, she is fairly certain it’s that one.

“Sit down,” Romana tells Narvin, “and stretch your legs out in front of you.”

He does as he’s told. She straddles him, wraps her hand around him again, aligns him with her entrance. She swears she’s so wet he must be able to feel it already, with only the head of his cock pressing up against her cunt. “Yes?” she asks, breathless.

“Oh, yes,” he breathes, and presses up eagerly to meet her as her hips lower onto him.

It’s been so long since Romana has been with a man that she declines to do the math. She’s forgotten how this _feels_ , the stretching and the _fullness_ of it, but she thinks this would feel different anyway, because it’s Narvin. She’s never gone to bed with anyone before, of any gender, with whom the road to mutual respect was so long and so rocky. Stubborn as they are, she and Narvin have _changed_ one another, and so to feel the very shape of her own body contouring itself around him is… she doesn’t know. _Relevant_ , perhaps. A continuation of something. She would probably care more about the correct vocabulary if she didn’t have one or two more pressing interests dominating her senses just now.

Narvin shudders and presses his lips against Romana’s neck, but she turns up his face with both hands in his hair and kisses him deeply, each of them tasting the other’s small sounds of pleasure. She has begun to move instinctively, rising and falling and leaving the both of them, ready as they were after so much foreplay, trembling with enjoyment. Narvin’s hands slide to her backside, however, stilling her temporarily.

“You were right about how long it’s been for me,” he gasps, and kisses her neck again, making her head fall back. “If you don’t let me set the pace, this isn’t going to last long.”

Romana considers telling him that she doesn’t mind a bit about that—she’s hardly lacking in other options. But then Leela catches Romana by the arm.

“Do as he says,” Leela instructs. “I would like my turn, before this day is done.”

“Only for you, Leela,” Romana gives in. They’re in a ridiculous jumble, the four of them—Romana doesn’t know _how_ Brax has contorted those long limbs of his to situate his head between Leela’s legs—but Romana manages, just, to crane near enough to kiss Leela’s mouth, shivering at the taste of Brax on Leela’s lips. Romana trails her fingers along Brax’s spine before her attention turns back to Narvin.

“Set your pace then, Narvin,” she concedes, and clings as he thrusts up inside her.

Romana closes her eyes and extends her psychic awareness. Heaven knows that this encounter has sufficient moving parts already; the way she opens her mind to Narvin isn’t anything telepathically deep, not much more inherently intense than sharing her vision with Leela had been. Someday, maybe, the four of them will try something like that, sex more of minds than of bodies: painting whirls of shared sensation through cerebral tricks that are complex and flourishing and almost artistic. Leela may not prefer it, Romana imagines, but Brax will excel. 

Today, though, Romana sticks with the basics. With Narvin’s eager consent, she entwines their consciousnesses just enough to sense what he is feeling, to know what’s good for him and let him know what’s good for her. Not sharing at least _that_ much would be positively inefficient, and inefficiency is a sin for which Narvin would never forgive her.

Then again, she thinks, as she feels what he’s feeling, it’s possible he would forgive her for _anything_ just now.

Linking their pleasure has the unintended but by no means unpleasant effect of doubling their sensation, and Romana was near enough to whimpering that the sound is dragged from her throat, no matter _how_ undignified. Narvin is more articulate. It is not _exactly_ possible to swear in Old High Gallifreyan; the language contains no expletives as such. But a sufficiently determined Time Lord can string together phrases like ‘temporally displaced’ and ‘lacking in distinguished antecedents’ into something that _sounds_ suitably profane. Romana is suitably impressed that Narvin can manage it, under the circumstances.

Romana makes a little inarticulate sound that is mostly made of vowel sounds, and slips her hand between their bodies. “You really _aren’t_ going to last much longer, are you?” she gasps.

“I _said_ so, didn’t I?” he says, high-pitched with the strain, and nearly sobs as her finger finds her clit, subject to her spike of pleasure just as much as she is. “ _Especially_ not if you do _that_.”

It strikes Romana that Brax is the only one of them not currently enduring a positive suffering of stimulation, and how unfair that is. She has no idea what portion of his body is actually pressing against her knee at present, but it’s skin enough for contact. She can’t really spare any attention for his reaction to the sudden flood of sensory overload she has just unleashed upon him, but so far as she can tell it is something like his eyes rolling back in his head, if that same motion were to choke him on the way down his throat and turn most of the rest of his insides the wrong way out.

“I don’t want to stop,” Romana admits, in a whimper. “Leela, if you’re going to, you’d best…”

Maybe Brax has managed to loop Leela into their psychic tangle—Romana is distracted enough that she might easily not notice—or maybe he and Leela are just two exceptionally graceful and competent humanoids. However it happens, they move at the same time, and then _everything_ happens at once. 

Romana would be shocked that the tent stays in one piece, if she could spare the brainspace. She thinks maybe that Leela and Brax’s hands both move together as they quite literally pull her away from Narvin. The momentary loss of that parting—Romana and Narvin’s eyes catch on each other and flare—is subsumed in an instant by Brax, and a hammerblow impact of pure _wanting_ that would knock her flat in a physical sense if his body weren’t already pressing her to the ground.

It occurs to Romana, for a fraction of a nanospan, that she has destroyed planets and yet never played with fire like _this_ before. And then not even that much thought is possible, because it turns out she has found the place where Irving Braxiatel’s self-control ends, and she would be bloody _terrified_ if she weren’t more aroused than she had ever understood it was physically possible to be.

He’s inside her before she can even take stock of her body, hiking her knees up and pressing himself over her. She is afraid to open her eyes, because she _knows_ that seeing how he’s looking at her will break the spell, and she doesn’t want it broken. The hurricane inside her head is _obsession_ , love in as _unhealthy_ a guise as it comes, but _gods and Pythia_ , don’t let it _stop_. 

“ _Brax_ ,” she gasps, clinging with both arms, as her whole spine arcs her off the ground.

The floodtide abates for a moment, her eyes opening themselves in reply. His irises have disappeared entirely, his pupils are so huge with lust, but his mouth bears a horrified shape, some hint of clarity back in his mind. “Romana,” he says, like his hearts have both broken at once, “have I hurt you?”

She laughs for a hysterical instant, shaking her head more in incredulity than reply, though it’s the right answer that way, too. “Move,” she orders, hand fisting in his hair, and knows the madness in her own eyes matches his. “ _Now_.”

He shudders all over and, she swears, so _nearly_ comes right then. And then he’s pressing her back down and fucking her so hard that each and every thrust shakes straight through her, and projecting praise and devotion into her head so instinctively she doesn’t think he knows he’s doing it, and she’s absolutely _sobbing_ for more.

One of Romana’s hands is necessary to hang on for dear life. But she manages, just, to flail out with the other, and when Leela effortlessly catches and holds it, Romana forgets Brax for just long enough to be soul-shakingly in love with her best friend. ‘Soul-shakingly’ is about the minimum level of emotion Romana can spare for anything right now, admittedly, with Brax’s and Leela’s and Narvin’s feelings all mixed in her head, while Romana can _feel_ Leela riding Narvin like she was both of them at once, feel Narvin’s awe and fear and passion, Leela’s uninhibited _joy_. Romana knows that the four of their names have been escaping from each other’s lips, but who is praising whom, who loving whom, who urging whom on, she doesn’t know and doesn’t need to.

When they fall it’s a chain reaction—could hardly help but be with their minds so tightly wound, never mind their bodies. Leela’s rolling hips and Narvin’s hand between her legs push her first over the edge, and the constriction of her orgasm around him is more than enough to leave Narvin shouting and clutching her. Leela’s mind is so _beautiful_ in release, the _colors_ of it so _vivid_ , that Romana thinks just _that_ would be enough for her, as she curls herself around Brax and cries out her own surrender. And Braxiatel nurses Romana through it for the few thrusts he can manage, then gives a tremendous shuddering sigh of pure _relief_ , and falls into her arms as he comes.

The tent cannot really be said to go silent. But it fills up with breathing, and, for a long time, does not mix that breathing with speech.

Perhaps Leela has the advantage over the others, in those few head-start nanospans of recovery time, or perhaps she is simply the one among them who can least endure inaction. Perhaps humans simply recover sooner from these things. The first thing Romana is aware, anyway, is that Leela is snuggling up next to her, and, smilingly, kissing her lips.

“And when will we do it again?”

Romana laughs, and laughs, and kisses Leela, and she laughs, and she loves, and leans close.

Brax adjusts himself, slightly, so he’s a little less definitely on top of Romana, but still curled mostly around her. And Narvin’s arm snakes over Leela’s hip to rest on Romana’s stomach—and they are right back where they started from, and whole universes away.

“Good night,” says Romana, “my everythings,” and drifts straight back to sleep.


End file.
